reading the dirt where Jesus wrote

Lowe’s Toasted Corn And Sloop John B.

Lowes carries the best Toasted Corn Snack in the world. Of course I’ve never tasted any other. That’s because when I come across something that’s perfect, I’m always afraid to look for something better for fear of things cresting on me.

The other night, when the moon was closer to it’s full face position, my oldest son Everett and I went out on the town to get me a haircut and him a faucet for his cabin.

Forty five minutes to wait on a haircut was longer than my hair. I walked back out un-shorn, hopped into the car and pointed it towards Lowes.

The sun had pretty much went completely away and as we drove along East Henderson, I started ranting about the incredible craving for things crunchy, greasy, salty, and limey. I knew at the bottom of my thumping gizzard that such stuff exists, even if only on other worlds, because right then I couldn’t think of what it might be. Not french fries, not Dorito Corn Chips. Everett suggested a green mango with salt. I said yes while lying, because it still wasn’t coming home.

Then the lights broke on my tongue. LOWES! They carry those darling little bags of Toasted Corn Chips. I have no clue what brand they are. You don’t need to know. You just go to Lowes and get several bags. (Make it 4, otherwise your dentist will find out!)

Son and I walked into Lowes. First bit of hardware we searched for was the Toasted Corn. It was hanging right in it’s place. Good.

We hurried to the far side and fetched our faucet. Coming back towards the commercial checkout, I slowed my pace, and carefully selected the Toasted Corn. Two bags.

Out in the car the first bag was ripped open. Tiny little Big Bangs started creating new universes of flavor inside both of our faces. I kept the second bag untouched.

When we got home I carefully hid the unopened bag in the far corner of the upper cabinet. Not only the far corner, but the corner where you have to bend the most body parts to reach. No one will ever enjoy those Corns except me.

Tonight, the moon is coming up late. It’s 9:00. The juices are flowing in my mouth. The kids are in the den watching some target practice, or something that goes bang repeatedly.

I release a breath of satisfaction at my delayed satisfaction discipline. I had a bunch of that Toasted Hardware to munch on tonight. Couldn’t wait.

Carefully I bent all the appropriate body parts to reach around the corner for the bag of Corn. NOTHING. I groped desperately. Some bags of chips. A little spilled baking powder. Nothing!

I rushed to the den door -turned on the light-“Lynford, did you eat my corn?”

“No” he replied.

I don’t know which to love most an honest thief or a hungry thief? My son Ivan rolls over on the couch. “I did!”

Unbelievable! He has my wife’s incredibly sincere blue eyes. How could that face be guilty of burning my corn. There’s really nothing a Dad can say about his lost corn in front of 9 kids.

I just closed the door and told my wife that I have to find a better place to hide food in the house. Actually, I started thinking about digging a hole out in the woods for the corn. I’d have to eat it before it sprouted tho.

Later, still grieving for my corn, I took my wife and Ivan out to the den. I threw the song “Sloop John B.” by the Beach Boys on the big screen. This line is in that song. It’s a very mournful sound. Fit my mood perfect.

“And then he took and he ate up all of my corn.”

I still would like to find a place to hide corn in this house. Maybe I could hide it hard enough that Ivan would need a massive particle accelerator like they were going to build here at Waxahachie (I’m still bitter about that one) to tease this tasty, crunchy, Corn Boson, out of it’s deep hiding place.